“Banderas, let me see,” she replied, typing his name into the computer. “Room four twelve.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Emily spun on the spiky heels of her black-leather boots and headed toward his room. She remembered Isabel mentioning she would come and see him that morning, and when Emily asked if she could tag along, Isabel told her it would be better if she went alone. That didn’t mean Emily couldn’t pop in on her own, though.
Emily read the room numbers as she meandered down the corridor until she found room four twelve. She pushed the door open slowly, judging if anyone else was in the room. Not hearing any voices, she pushed it open all the way.
Jerry’s eyelids raised as she approached, likely hearing the click of her heels on the hard surface of the floor. His face remained expressionless.
“Hello, Jethro. Or should I say Jerry?” Emily forced a friendly smile onto her lips.
“How did you know?”
“I figured it out. It’s what I do.”
“I’d forgotten you were a private eye.”
She found that hard to believe.
“I hear you’re pretty sick, Jerry. I’m sorry to hear that.”
He raised his eyebrows in doubt. “Really?”
“Why would you think I wouldn’t be?” She knew exactly why, but she wanted to hear him admit it. She cast him a sad look. “I would never wish you any harm, Jerry. You were trying to help me to find out my husband’s true identity. I’m grateful for that.”
“Did you ever figure out what to do with that hypothetical gun you asked me about?”
“As a matter of fact, I gave it to Isabel and she turned it in to the FBI lab, like you suggested.”
She saw disappointment in his eyes—or was it fear? The gun was no longer within his reach.
“We should have results later today, then we’ll know who the gun belonged to, maybe even who killed my husband.”
“That couldn’t have been the gun that killed him,” he said with a slight shake of his head.
“How do you know that?” Emily toyed with him. She knew it wasn’t the gun, but she wanted to rattle him, get him wondering how close she and Isabel were to figuring things out.
“If that gun had been used to kill him, then how did your husband manage to hide it away? I remember you saying the gun was hidden away.”
“I was only speaking hypothetically,” Emily reminded him.
“Hypothetically my eye. I never believed that for a minute, girl.”
“Was it your gun, Jerry?”
“That’s enough!” Delia shouted from the doorway, her deep brown eyes almost glowed with anger. “The man is sick and I won’t stand by and let you rile him up with your questions, Emily.”
Emily turned in shock. “Delia, what are you—”
“It doesn’t matter.” Delia cut her off. “This interrogation is over.”
“But we were just having a little chat, weren’t we, Jerry?” Emily smiled sweetly at the man in the bed, patting him softly on the arm. She noticed the wrinkles around his eyes were more pronounced than she remembered, and his skin was more sallow.
“We were talking about my late husband.” Emily turned her attention back to Delia. “Someone killed the man I loved and has been tormenting me for the past few months. I hoped Jerry could help me figure out who that might be.”
“I can’t let that happen, Emily. He’s too ill to be badgered into helping you.”
“Delia, I thought we were friends. I helped you get through your own husband’s murder investigation, and I found the killer, not all that long ago. If I hadn’t, you’d be rotting in prison right now. Can’t you and your dad do the same for me?”
“You know he’s my father?” Delia’s eyes widened for a moment, then they narrowed as if she realized that Emily knowing that fact now put her in jeopardy somehow.
“Delia, let me tell her,” Jerry pleaded.
“No,” she said firmly. “Emily, you need to leave.” Delia walked to the door and held it open, avoiding making eye contact with her.
Emily started to walk through the doorway, but paused as she reached Delia. Standing toe to toe with her, she searched the woman’s face for any sign that they had ever truly been friends. “This isn’t over, you know.”
“I know,” Delia replied, pressing her perfectly painted lips tightly into a straight line, still refusing to look at her.
CHAPTER 22
In the crisp, cool autumn air, Emily leaned against a pillar near the main entrance of the hospital, tugging her cropped black-leather jacket closed. She raked her fingers through her curls in aggravation at Delia stopping her from pulling a confession out of the man she suspected of murdering her husband.
She dug her phone out of her jacket pocket and dialed Isabel’s number.
“Hey, Emily, what’s up?”
“You told me last night you were going to stop by the hospital and see Jerry Banderas this morning. I was wondering when you were planning to do that.”
“Let’s see.” Isabel paused and Emily imagined she was looking at her watch. “It’s almost eleven. I can be there in about thirty minutes. Are you there?”
“I am.”
“But I told you I want to talk to him alone.”
“I’m not asking to go in with you. I already warmed him up for you.”
“Tell me you didn’t.”
“Actually, I was doing a pretty good job of it, too, if it hadn’t been for Delia walking in and ordering me out of his room.”
“Oh, boy. I’d like to have seen that.” Isabel chuckled at the thought. “You really think you warmed him up for me?”
“Yes. He wanted to talk, but Delia put the kibosh on that. So we’ll need to put our heads together and come up with a plan to keep her out of his room while you sneak in and talk to him.”
“She’s a pretty sharp cookie. It’ll have to be plausible.”
“I have an idea. Let me call Colin and get him over here. Can you arrange for one of those fancy hidden cameras to record his confession?”
“I believe so. Give me a few minutes to make a quick call to line that up.”
~*~
Colin came as soon as Emily called, meeting her and Isabel in the agreed-upon spot—the hospital gift shop.
Emily pointed to the elevators through the wall of glass that faced the hospital foyer. “We’ve been watching the elevators from here and—”
“Delia came down about ten minutes ago,” Isabel finished.
“I called her, like you asked. When she gets to my office and I’m not there, she’s going to be pissed.” Colin looked to Emily and then to Isabel.
“That’s the plan.” Emily said.
“A guy from the FBI should be here any minute to bring me a brooch with a hidden camera and mic in it. He’ll monitor the recording from his vehicle.” Isabel looked through the wall of glass, searching for the man. “Here he comes.”
A young man, no more than twenty-five, with closely cropped red hair, dressed in a polo shirt and khakis, strolled into the gift shop with something under his arm that looked like a small laptop. He glanced around and made a beeline to Isabel as soon as he spotted her. “Hey, Izzy.”
“Emily, Colin, this is Buzz. He’s a wizard with technology.”
They exchanged pleasantries and Buzz helped Isabel pin the daisy-shaped brooch in place on the jacket of her navy blue pantsuit at an angle that would most advantageously capture Jerry’s position in bed. “To turn it on, just twist the stem of the daisy to the right.”
“Let’s test it.” Isabel twisted the stem and walked around the store, commenting on different items, and Buzz watched and listened on the monitor.
“Good?” Isabel asked.
“Roger that. Twist it back the other way to turn it off,” Buzz instructed as she walked back toward him. “I’ll be out in my van waiting to see it come on.”
He tucked the monitor under his arm again and began to walk away. Stopping short, he spun back around. “Oh, b
y the way, Izzy,” he said, shaking his pointer finger at her, “I was supposed to tell you something. Guess your phone’s been off ’cause of the hospital, but Benson’s been trying to reach you. The fingerprint results are back. Give him a call.” With a light wave of his hand, Buzz ambled out of the building.
“Let me step outside and call him. It’ll just take a sec.” Isabel hurried out as the front doors whooshed open.
“That was fast,” Colin said.
Emily slung her bulky handbag over her shoulder and moved toward the door. “I wonder what they found.”
Colin followed her out into the foyer. “We’ll know in a minute.” He gestured toward Isabel putting her phone away as she walked back inside.
“Well?” Emily asked impatiently.
“The gun belongs to Jerry Banderas.” Isabel turned and went to the row of elevators.
“According to the note Evan left in the safe deposit box, Jerry had to have been the one who attempted to kill him that night, not very long after we moved to Paradise Valley. If Evan hadn’t wrestled the gun away from him, Jerry certainly would have shot him to death back then.” Emily nervously shifted her purse and ran her fingers through one side of her curly mane. “He’s probably the one who eventually did murder Evan.”
“Looks that way.” Colin reached over and pushed the up arrow for one of the elevators.
“Isabel, you need to put the screws to that man,” Emily ordered, grabbing her friend’s arm. “We need him on tape admitting what he did.”
Colin glanced at Isabel and she met his gaze, mirroring his look of puzzlement and concern at Emily’s stress level.
“Don’t worry, Em.” Isabel patted her hand, then pried Emily’s fingers off her arm. “I’ll do my best.”
“I want to go in with you.” Emily’s voice took on a nervous intensity. “I’m afraid you’ll go too easy on him. He’s been your friend for a long time and he’s dying, so how can you be expected to treat him like any other murder suspect?”
“I will. I promise.”
“Let her do her job.” Colin wrapped an arm loosely around Emily’s shoulders. “Jerry may be her friend, but Evan was her friend, too. You’re going to have to trust her.”
Emily looked into Isabel’s deadly serious face, searching her dark eyes. Isabel stared back and nodded at Emily, reaching out and taking her friend’s trembling hand. “I won’t let you down, Em.”
Emily paused, processing Isabel’s response. “We’re in agreement then. Isabel will be the only one to go inside Jerry’s room—that is, until she signals us to come in.”
The elevator tone dinged and one set of doors slid open. “After you, ladies.”
They boarded the elevator and rode it up to the fourth floor. Stepping off, they all turned to the right and marched down the corridor, stopping right before reaching Jerry’s room.
Isabel turned the stem of her daisy pin to the right. “Buzz, I’m on,” she said, dipping her chin toward her lapel as she spoke. Her eyes flashed to Emily and Colin. “Wish me luck, guys.” She stood up straight, pulled in a quick breath, and gently pushed the door open.
~*~
“Good morning, Jerry,” Isabel said in a light and friendly voice.
“Isabel.” Jerry tried to pull himself up on his pillows. “Is this a social call? Or—”
“Some of both. How are you feeling this morning?” Isabel moved to the foot of his bed, making sure she had a good angle for the camera.
“A little better.”
“You look better. What do the doctors say?”
“Oh, you know doctors. I could have a month, I could have a year. All I know is I can’t beat it.”
“I really am sorry to hear that. We’ve been friends for a long time, Jerry.”
“Going on fifteen years, but I don’t think you stopped by to take a walk with me down memory lane. What’s on your mind?”
“Remember the gun Emily talked to you about the night we stopped by her place together?”
“You mean the hypothetical one?”
“Only I knew you didn’t believe it was only hypothetical. You kept pressing me to see it.”
“So now you’re saying the gun is no longer hypothetical?”
“That’s right, it’s no longer hypothetical. It’s a Beretta 92FS pistol.”
Jerry’s eyes narrowed a bit at the description.
“I had that gun run through the system this morning and turns out it belongs to you.”
“Damn!”
“You’ve been searching Emily’s house for it, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.”
“Have you been tailing her?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Why are you being so evasive, Jerry? We’re not going to charge you with breaking and entering—with you being so sick, I mean. What would be the point?”
“Then why are you pressing the issue?” He crossed his arms and glared at her.
“I merely want to know, and I want to be able to put Emily’s mind at ease. With the gun located, we won’t be seeing any more of that behavior, will we?”
“All right, you’ve got me. I was just trying to get that freakin’ gun back—I didn’t want it connected to me. Guess I’m getting too old, too rusty to work undetected. It sucks to get old, Isabel.”
“I have to agree with you there. So, now that we have that mystery resolved, let’s move on to why this gun was so important.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Because we’re friends, Jerry, I’m going to give you the chance to tell me what happened. You can ask for a lawyer to be present, that’s certainly your right, but since you don’t have long to live, it isn’t likely you’d ever be held accountable for any of it. It wouldn’t be financially prudent to pursue a case against you. I’d simply like to know what happened to David Gerard before you’re no longer able to tell me.”
Jerry turned his head and stared out the window, biting on his upper lip.
Isabel wondered if he was thinking over his options.
He turned back and met her gaze. “Okay, I’ll tell you.”
“Everything?”
“I might as well. What do I have to lose at this point?”
“I just want to make sure you understand that you’re telling me all of this under no duress whatsoever, that no one is pressuring you to do it.”
“No, none.”
“Do you want a glass of water before you start?”
“No, I’m good.”
“Okay, then. Tell me what happened to David Gerard.”
“All right.” Jerry cleared his throat. “I was working in DC about seven years ago and got word my daughter, Natalia, had been killed in France. She’d been going to school there. An accidental shooting I was told. I never could really get a straight answer. Then, a couple of years later, a friend of mine in the CIA told me he’d read a report that said she had been killed in a shoot out between David Gerard and an enemy spy. She and David had been seeing each other and an operative from one of the unfriendly countries opened fire on them.”
“So you think it was David’s fault your daughter was killed?”
“I know it was,” he snapped.
“Even if he didn’t pull the trigger or purposely put her in harm’s way?”
“David Gerard was a CIA operative. He had no business getting involved with a civilian and putting her life in danger. He should have known better, instead of letting his Johnson make his decisions for him.”
“So you decided to do something about it? Avenge your daughter’s death?”
“By the time I found out the truth, he’d left the CIA and moved west with his new wife, but I didn’t know where.”
“Then how’d you find him?”
“I was here in town visiting someone, thinking of retiring here. I went to lunch with a colleague from the FBI’s Boise office and saw Gerard eating on the patio of a restaurant with his wife, laughing and enjoying the fresh air.” He shook his head. “While my
Natalia lay cold in her grave, he was laughing and enjoying the sunshine with somebody new. It wasn’t fair.”
Isabel noticed her ailing friend’s eyes fill with tears at the mention of his daughter’s name.
He wiped his hand across his eyes and drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Must be allergies.”
“You had two daughters, as I recall.”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Is Delia McCall your other daughter?”
“Why are you bringing her into this?”
“Just wondering. She did hire David to work for her.”
“Yeah, but she only knew him as Evan. Do you want to hear my story or not?” He seemed to bristle at her questions about his older daughter.
“Sorry, Jerry. Go on, please.”
“Like I said, I saw him at the restaurant and I followed him back to his office. I sat in my car for a long time, wondering what my next move should be. I had plans for dinner with Delia, so I decided to keep an eye on him and wait for an opportunity to confront him.”
“Then what happened?”
“A few nights later, I was driving by his office and noticed him through the lit window. I parked my car around the corner and snuck into his building. I opened his office door just enough to see him and stick the nose of my gun in. I took a shot, but the phone rang and he turned away toward the darn thing. The bullet must have whizzed past his head. Before I knew it, he slammed the door on the gun and my hand and wrestled it away from me. He fired a few shots at me, hitting me in the shoulder.”
“So he shot you with your own gun?”
“You don’t have to remind me. I ducked behind the next building and raced to my car. I phoned Delia to come to my hotel room and help me.”
“Why didn’t you go to her house?”
“She had that good-for-nothin’, pretty-boy husband. She didn’t want him or the housekeeper knowing anything about the gunshot. The bullet went through and through, so she brought all the medical supplies she needed to patch me up—and some painkillers, to boot.”
“But David had your gun.”
He nodded. “Afraid so.”
“Did you tell Delia what happened? Why you were there? That you had tried to kill David and he was defending himself?”
3 The Chain of Lies Page 19
